


The Good Fight

by wine_dark_seashells



Category: Original Work
Genre: Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Not Beta Read, Tumblr Prompt, sort of the opposite of literally every YA novel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:00:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25756273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wine_dark_seashells/pseuds/wine_dark_seashells
Summary: Based off a Tumblr prompt:((“Shh, it’s alright,” the villain said. “You’re doing beautifully and I’m so proud of you. It was cruel of them to make you fight me - you could never have won. It’s not your fault.”This ancient, powerful villain may have had a calm and gentle face as he spoke, but he was furious, not at the hero, but at the gods for continually sending children to fight their battles for them.))Will be updated if people like it.
Relationships: The Villain & The Hero
Comments: 4
Kudos: 2





	1. Strong Son of God, Immortal Love

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there!  
> This is based off a tumblr post and I wrote it on a dare. I'm not sure how good it will be, but if people are actually reading it I will keep updating.
> 
> TW: implied and referenced child abuse by a figure of authority and implied suicide.

“Shh, it’s alright,” the villain said. “You’re doing beautifully and I’m so proud of you. It was cruel of them to make you fight me - you could never have won. It’s not your fault.”

This ancient, powerful villain may have had a calm and gentle face as he spoke, but he was furious, not at the hero, but at the gods for continually sending children to fight their battles for them.

15 year old Ekaterina Mussorgsky, Wielder of the Secret Sword and Bearer of the Banners of the Gods, sagged at the villain’s words. She sobbed into her burnt hands and fell to her bruised knees.

“I tried!” she wailed. “I tried and I couldn’t do it! You’re evil! You’re going to destroy the world and _I couldn’t stop you!_ ”

“Oh child,” the villain murmured. “It’s ok.”

He knelt awkwardly and folded her shaking form into his arms. She squirmed half-heartedly from his embrace, but collapsed in a fresh wave of tears.

The throne room of the villain’s warship was black and dark and echoey. Every sound resounded and grew in the cold air. Henchmen prowled the edges, slipping in and out of metal pillars and iron statues. They kept a respectful distance. The cavernous room was filled with the sound of a child’s horror and fear.

The villain held her as she cried. 

When her sobs had trailed off into small whimpers the villain stood, lifting her easily. He sat her gently on the smaller seat next to his towering throne. The head henchman stepped forward awkwardly.

“Sir?”

“Yes, Michael? What is it?”

Michael darted a look down at Ekaterina.

“It’s just, sir… she did kill a lot of my soldiers. I know you always say not to take revenge, but I don’t think I’ll be able to keep ‘em away from her forever if she stays here. A lot of ‘em had families. I know you know that, sir, because you give ‘em leave each Christmas.”

The villain slouched back in his throne. He muttered a curse. Glancing between Ekaterina - who was still crying - and the guards that hurried around the room, he cursed again.

“I know,” he sighed, “She will be punished accordingly.”

Michael frowned, “What’re you gonna do with her?”

“I, Michael,” the villain said, pronouncing each word carefully, “Am going to use her to send a message to the gods.”

“What? You can’t… you wouldn’t…”

“Kill her? No, Michael.”

“What’re you gonna do then, sir?”

“I don’t know, Michael,” the villain said, “I really don’t know.”

A commotion at the doors to the throne room attracted the villain’s attention. Angry voices resonated in the hallway outside. The door slammed open, making Michael jump. A tall woman dressed head to toe in black armour stomped inside. She brandished a golden helmet and opened her mouth to scream:

“Where is she?!”

The villain sat forward, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes, Claire?”

Claire glowered at him, then spotted Ekaterina huddled on the chair. Her eyes practically glowed with rage.

“There she is! That bitch killed my father!”

Stalking forward, she shook Ekaterina’s helmet in the villain’s face.

“I know it was her, because she left her knife buried in his chest!”

Claire growled as Ekaterina continued to do nothing.

“She needs to _pay_.”

Ekaterina looked up at last. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying, tears still streaking down her pale cheeks. A cut on her jaw bled sluggishly and bruises ringed her neck. With the terrified expression on her face, she looked even younger than fifteen. It was painfully clear that she was only a child.

“Oh,” was all Claire could say. The villain watched with hawk-like eyes as Claire’s maternal instincts warred with her hatred and anger. The boiling rage cooled to a simmer.

“I’m sorry,” Ekaterina whispered, “I’m so sorry.”

“What was that, filth?” snarled Claire, anger surging again.

“I’m sorry!” Ekaterina wailed. “I didn’t want to kill anyone! I’m so sorry. You’re evil! Everyone knows that! But I didn’t want to kill anyone. The Gods handed me a sword and pushed me off a cloud. I didn’t know what to do! They told me you were evil, that it was ok. That I needed to take your lives for the greater good! I just wanted to be good!”

Ekaterina broke into gasping sobs. 

“I’m sorry!”

Claire swallowed, taken aback. It was obvious that she hadn’t expected an apology of any kind, let alone from this literal _child_. Despite the overwhelming rage and hatred, tears brimmed in her dark eyes. A glance at the villain let Claire know she would cross a line if she went any further. She threw the helmet at Ekaterina’s feet and muttered, “I’m sorry, sir,” as she backed hastily out of the room.

The throne room fell deeply silent.

Rubble shifted and scattered, echoing loudly.

A steady drip of a noxious green liquid pierced the deafening silence.

“Gyan!”

A short, plump man appeared silently by the villain’s side, clad in a dusty suit. His shoes were missing.

“Gyan, escort this child to a room where she may sleep,” the villain declared. “See to it that her weapons are confiscated and fresh clothing is provided. If she wants to clean up, allow it. Do not let her stray from her room and do _not_ let her come to harm. I’m not done with her yet.”

Gyan nodded and grasped Ekaterina’s shoulders, hauling her from her seat. This earned him a squawk from the girl and a glare from the villain.

“ _Gently_ , Gyan,” he admonished.

Bowing, Gyan escorted Ekaterina from the room, using a little known side passage to avoid detection. Ekaterina said nothing, only pausing once to find her balance properly. She risked a timid glance behind at the villain. His gnarled features stared back at her impassively. Ekaterina shivered at his gaze.

The door slammed behind them.

* * *

Ekaterina sat huddled in the corner of the dark bedroom. With every breath, fear crept up her throat and smothered her words. Her ragged breathing echoed harshly.

Shaking her head, Ekaterina stumbled to her feet, placing a hand on the wall for support. The walls seemed to close in on her as she staggered for the door. When Gyan had pushed her through it had locked itself behind her. She’d already tried the handle. There were no windows in the room, which only served to exaggerate the darkness.

As Ekaterina grasped blindly at the walls next to the door, her hand hit a hard knob. It gave way under her hand with a loud snap. Ekaterina flinched back, wondering what she’d just done.

Light flooded the room.

Ekaterina gasped. The room was enormous. The corner she’d been cowering in was only an antechamber, it seemed.

The walls were painted a beautiful creamy white, with gold detailing in swirls around the door frames. There  _ were _ windows, it seemed, because they were covered with floor length gold curtains. A huge, white, plush rug contrasted with the honey coloured floorboards. The bed was tightly made with pure white sheets and gold and green pillows. There was an ornate marble  _ fireplace _ , for crying out loud, complete with green wingback chairs.

Ekaterina was a country girl from a not particularly well-off family. She had never seen such casual opulence in her life.

A knock at the door made her whirl around, startled. The door opened and Gyan poked his head through.

“The lord wishes to know if you are settling in alright, miss.”

_ How long have I been sitting in that corner? _ Ekaterina asked herself silently.

When Ekaterina said nothing, Gyan elaborated.

“If you wish to have a bath, the bathroom is through that door there,” he pointed. “And if you would like to change your clothes, there is the wardrobe.”

Ekaterina gaped.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked. “Aren’t I your prisoner or something?”

Gyan frowned. “That is for my Lord to decide, but right now you are not, miss.”

Ekaterina opened her mouth–to argue or express gratitude, she didn’t know–but she was interrupted by the chiming of a clock. Gyan’s face morphed smoothly back into the expressionless mask of earlier.

“The lord will see you soon. I suggest you take the time to make yourself more presentable.”

“Wait-“ Ekaterina cried, but Gyan backed out hurriedly, snapping the door behind him.

Ekaterina was alone again.

She looked around the room and studied each of the doors carefully. What was behind them? Ekaterina turned to face the one Gyan had said was the bathroom. 

Pushing the door open, she marveled at the ornate bathtub with it’s golden clawed feet, the mirror whose edges were encrusted with white gems, the intricate green and white mosaics that graced the walls. Emerald green towels hung on rails on the walls, embroidered with golden leaves, and the white tiled floor was covered with a pale green bath mat. The whole room smelled of spices that Ekaterina couldn’t name.

The whole room screamed rich and powerful. Ekaterina backed out slowly, closing the door behind her. She wasn’t ready to face that sort of copious money. 

The door on the other side of the room opened to reveal what appeared to be a study. Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with old tomes bound in dyed leather. The floor was carpeted with  **emerald** green. The furniture - barring the green and gold tartan lounge - was made of honey coloured wood. There was a desk, complete with quills, ink, rolls of parchment and a gold reading lamp, a delicately carved chair and a large table, covered in neatly stacked maps and a globe of the world.

Ekaterina gaped. This was too much. What was the villain playing at, giving her all this? She wouldn’t give in, if that was what he wanted. She would never be evil like him. The many emotions she’d been feeling of the past few days bubbled up inside her. Rage, both at the villain and at herself for failing, scorched her throat. Fear chilled her heart at the thought of what the villain and his minions would do to her.

Most of all, confusion, because none of this had happened like the Gods had told her it would.

She was supposed to be special, dammit! The Gods had proclaimed her the wielder of the Secret Sword, the only one who could defeat the villains plaguing their world. They’d watched over her her whole life, and she’d failed them. What was she supposed to do now?

Ekaterina strode over to the curtains, gripping handfuls of gold fabric and  _ pulling _ . The fabric gave under her strength and crumpled to the floor. Light poured in, blinding Ekaterina. She blinked the spots out of her eyes and peered out the window. Her room appeared to be halfway up the villain’s mountainous castle, the window seat (green, of course) overhanging a long drop to the ground. There was no way down.

Looking back at the study, Ekaterina frowned. What  _ could _ she do? Then she grinned.

Why, plan her escape, of course.


	2. I regret to inform you:

Unfortunately, when I said I would have the next chapter up soon I may have overestimated myself. My laptop broke and since I've only just gotten a new one, this story is still incredibly unfinished. I don't like having such a long wait between chapters, so I'm going to hold off on posting anything more until it's actually finished. This story is going to stay here like a placeholder so that when I want to give up on it I can look at this and feel guilty enough to continue. I promise you, I am actually working on this as you read these words, and I will not abandon this story. I promise.

That being said, I hope you all had a happy new year. If you're in America in DC, stay safe. People please wear your masks and get the vaccine as soon as possible. We can get through this.

Happy 2021, and have a good night all.

**Author's Note:**

> If you can tell me where i'm getting my chapter titles from, you get a ghost hug - you can't feel it, but it's there.


End file.
